


Shade and Shift

by QHQ



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, Catholicism, Demons, F/F, F/M, M/M, Modern AU, Slow Burn, a little clexa, a little finn/clarke too, demon trapper's daughter au, just thought I'd put it out there, we don't get TOO graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2019-10-28 21:18:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17794925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QHQ/pseuds/QHQ
Summary: When the demons got released on Atlanta, Jake Griffin quit his job as a high school teacher to trap them. Years later, Clarke is trying to follow in his footsteps. But the Guild isn't ready for the first-ever female trapper, and she also has to deal with her father's irritating former apprentice Bellamy, a surprisingly sweet necromancer, plus all the normal parts of high school. Well, as normal as high school gets when it's taught out of a Starbucks. Clarke doesn't even remember her past before the demons, and now they're her whole future too.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Hope you like it! A brief note, this universe accepts Catholicism as the universal truth, and definitely doesn't reflect my own opinions on the matter.

Clarke Griffin rolled her eyes.

“Libraries and demons,” she muttered. “What is the attraction?”

At the sound of her voice the fiend hissed from its perch on top of the shelf. Then it flipped Clarke off, its long spindly fingers knobbly and swollen at the knuckles.

The librarian chuckled at its antics. “It’s been doing that ever since we found it.” 

They were on the second floor of the library at Tech, surrounded by weighty law books and industrious students. Well, they’d been industrious until Clarke showed up, but now most of them were only pretending to work, their eyes furtively locked on her, tracking her every move. _Trapping with an audience_ is what her dad called it. _A disaster in the making_ was Clarke’s term for it. The put-togetherness of the law students only served to remind Clarke of how totally third-world her clothes looked in comparison. Her jeans were torn and stained and her jacket was bought second hand from a stall on Peach. Next to the librarian and her smart pantsuit, she only looked shabbier. 

The woman brandished a laminated sheet; it seemed that librarians couldn’t help but categorize things, even Hellspawn. She squinted at the demon and then down at her sheet. “Hmm. About three inches tall, darker skin, peaked ears. Biblio-Fiend? I get them confused with the Klepto-Fiends. We’ve had both in here before.”

Clarke nodded her understanding. The librarian seemed like good people. “Biblios are into books. Rather than stealing stuff they have an unfortunate tendency to pee on things. That’s the main difference.”

As if it had heard her, the offending minion of Hell promptly sent an arc of steaming phosphorescent urine in their direction. Luckily, a demon its size had rather limited equipment, and its range was small. They both took a step backwards though, just to be safe. 

The stench of old gym shoes blossomed around them. 

“It’s supposed to be better than a face mask for acne,” Clarke joked as she waved her hands in front of her face to clear the smell. 

The librarian grinned back. “No wonder your skin is so clear.”

Most clients bitched about how young Clarke was, even after seeing her Apprentice Demon Trapper license. She’d hoped that would taper off after she turned seventeen but so far no dice. The librarian took her somewhat seriously, at least. 

“How long has it been here?” Clarke asked. 

“Not long. I phoned it in right away, so it hasn’t had time to do any real damage,” the librarian reported. “We’ve had your dad in here to remove them in the past. I’m glad to see you following in his footsteps. We need more trappers like him.”

 _Yeah, right_. As if anyone could fill Jake Griffin’s shoes. 

Clarke shoved an errant lock of hair behind her ear, but it swung free immediately after. Sighing, she pulled it all out of the messy bun she’d shoved it in that morning and twisted it back up so the little demon couldn’t tie it in knots. Besides, she needed a second to think. 

She wasn’t a complete noob. She’d trapped Biblio-Fiends a few times before, just not in a library full of professors and students, including a few that were seriously attractive. One guy with floppy blond hair and soft eyes was looking straight at her, and she regretted having dressed for the job rather than for scrutiny. 

Trying to look anywhere but at the cute guy, her eyes fell on the room behind him, and a pit of dread opened deep in her stomach. Rare Book Room. A Biblio could cause some massive damage in there. 

“You see our concern,” the librarian whispered. 

“Sure do.” Biblio-Fiends hated books. They found immense joy in rampaging through the stacks, peeing, ripping, and shredding. To be let loose in a room full of old, priceless books and manuscripts would be the closest thing a Biblio would ever see to Heaven, and it wouldn’t leave anything whole. It would probably even get the fiend a promotion, if Hell had such things. 

_Confidence is everything_ her dad’s voice echoed in her ear. It didn’t make her feel as good as she would if he were actually by her side, but it was something. 

“I can get it out of here, no problem,” she said, squaring her shoulders. Another torrent of Hellspeak came her way, cussing her out the way only a demon could. The demon’s high pitched voice grated on her, like a cat attacking a chalkboard with its claws. It made her ears ache. 

Ignoring the fiend, Clarke cleared her suddenly sandpapery throat and launched into the legal technicalities and all the potential dangers that involved removing a demon from a public space. It was the standard trapper boilerplate. She began with the usual disclaimers before tacking on the extra lines about what could happen in a public and occupied location, including the clauses about structural damage and the threat of demonic possession. 

Unlike most clients, the librarian actually paid attention. 

Her eyes widened when Clarke got to the part about possession. “Does that really happen?” Her eyes wide. 

“Oh, no, not with the little ones. A four or a five, yeah.” It was one of the reasons Clarke was only allowed to go after the small dudes. They could bite and scratch and pee on you all they wanted, but they probably wouldn’t suck out your soul and use it as a hockey puck for all eternity. 

If all the demons were level one demons then no big deal, there would be no need for the Trapper’s Guild, and people would learn how to catch them themselves, like rats or roaches. But they weren’t.

The Demon Trapper’s Guild graded Hellfiends according to cunning and lethality. This demon, like all Biblio-Fiends, was a grade one: nasty, but not truly dangerous. Then you had your midline demons, your grade threes. Carniverous eating machines, the bastards came equipped with wicked claws and teeth. Top shelf demons were the grade fives, the Geo-Fiends, which could create freak windstorms and summon earthquakes with nothing more than a flick of the wrist. And the scale didn’t even include the archdemons, who made everything else look tamer than a newborn lamb in spring. 

Clarke turned her mind to the job at hand. The best way to render a Biblio-Fiend incapable of harm was to read to it. Classic literature, mostly. Old dense prose, but an economics report would do the trick in a pinch. Romance novels just stirred them up, so most trappers steered clear. A demon was bad enough on its own. A horny demon was exponentially worse. Her dad’s secret weapon was Romantic era poetry, but Clarke had never had the patience for Shelley. Instead she dug in her messenger bag for her battered copy of _Les Mis_ and opened it up to a page she’d bookmarked with an old lime green sticky note. 

“Hugo?” The librarian asked, raising her eyebrows.  
“Yeah. Nothing like the intricacies of the Parisian sewer system to put me to sleep.” She reshouldered her bag and pointed up at the fiend. “It’ll do the same to him.”

“Grant thee boon, Griffin’s daughter,” the demon whined, looking resignedly at the book in her hands. 

Clarke knew how this worked: if she accepted the favor she’d be obliged to set the demon free. Accepting favors from fiends was _so_ against the rules. You never could just stop at one, and before you knew it you’d be at Hell’s front door, your soul stamped with a “Property of Lucifer” shipping label. 

Clearing her throat Clarke began to read, in the original French. The demon stared at her for a moment before letting out a loud moan and flopping onto its back.

She kept reading aloud, and the demon whined and moaned, getting progressively louder and twisting around on its back, as if to garner sympathy from the students. _See? See what I have to deal with here?_ It seemed to say, dejection in every pitiful line of its body. 

Finally, there was a pronounced thump as the Fiend keeled over in a dead faint on the metal shelving unit. 

“Trapper scores!” Clarke crowed, narrowly restraining herself from tossing her hands into the air above her head. Shooting a quick glance towards the cute blonde guy, Clarke dropped the book and pulled a cup out of her bag. It had a picture of a dancing cartoon bear on its side. 

“Is that…Is that a sippy cup?” The librarian asked.

“Yup,” said Clarke, popping the p. “They’re perfect for this kind of thing. The holes in the top allows the demon to breathe, but they’re tough to unscrew from the inside.” She grinned, a little wolf-like. “Mostly though, the demons really hate them.”

Clarke reached up to her full height, which wasn’t saying much, but managed to grab the Biblio by a clawed foot, watching it carefully. Sometimes they just pretended to be asleep in order to escape. 

Not this one though, it was out cold.

“Well done, I’ll go sign the requisition for you,” the librarian said and headed off towards her desk. 

Clarke allowed herself a self-satisfied grin. The trapping had gone off without a hitch, her dad would be proud, and she’d just earned them another seventy-five dollars towards the month’s rent. As she positioned the demon over the top of the cup she heard a laugh, low and creepy. A second later, a gust of air hit her in the face, making her blink. Papers ruffled on tables. Remembering her father’s advice, Clarke kept her eyes on the demon at hand. It would revive quickly, and when it did the Biblio would go into a frenzy. It began to twitch as she lowered it into the cup. 

“Oh, no you don’t,” she said.

The breeze grew stronger. Papers no longer rustled on their desks but were caught up and spun around the room like tiny ghosts. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” A student demanded.

There was a curious shifting sound. Clarke gave a quick look upwards and watched as books began to dislodge themselves from their respective shelves one by one. They hung in the air like helicopters, then veered off at sharp tangents. One whizzed right over the head of a student and he ducked so quickly to avoid being hit that he banged his chin into the desk he was sitting at. 

The breeze grew, swirling through the stacks like a night wind in the forest. There were shouts and the muffled sounds of running feet on carpet as students and professors alike scurried for the exits. 

The Biblio stirred, spewing obscenities in Hellspeak and flailing its arms in all directions. Just as Clarke began to recite one of the passages from Les Mis that she’d had the forethought to memorize, the fire alarm blared to life, drowning her out. A heavy book rammed her in the shoulder, slamming her into the stack behind her. Dazed, she shook her head to clear it. The cup and its cap were on the floor at her feet. The demon was gone.

“No! Don’t do this!”

Panic stricken, she searched for it. In a maelstrom of books, papers, and flying school supplies, she finally spied the fiend navigating its way toward a closed door, the one that led to the Rare Book Room. Ducking to avoid a flock of reference books swooping down on her like enraged seagulls, Clarke grabbed the plastic cup and shoved it into her jacket pocket. 

She had to get the fiend into the container.

To her horror, the door to the Rare Book Room swung open and a confused student peered out, earbuds dangling around her neck. Spotting its opening, the demon took on additional speed and leapt up onto a recently vacated chair and then onto the reference desk. Small feet pounding, it dove off the desk, executed a perfect roll, and lined itself up for the final dash to the door, a tiny football player headed for the touchdown. 

Clarke barreled through everyone in her way, her eyes riveted on the small figure scurrying across the floor. As she vaulted over the reference desk something slammed into her back, knocking her off balance. She went down hard in a sea of pencils, paper, and wire trays. There was ripping sound: her jeans had taken one for the team.

Scrambling on all fours, she lunged forward, stretching as far as her tiny arms could reach. The fingers of her right hand caught the hissing fiend by the waist, and she dragged it toward her. It screamed and twisted and peed, but she didn’t loosen her grip. Clarke pulled the sippy cup from her pocket and jammed the demon inside. Jamming her hand over the top of the cup, she lay on her back staring up at the ceiling. Around her lights flashed and the alarm brayed. Her breath came in gasps, and her head ached. Both knees smarted where she had burned them against the scratchy carpet.

The alarm cut out abruptly and she let out a sigh of relief. There was another chilling laugh. She hunted for the source, but she couldn’t find it. A low groaning came from the massive bookshelves to her right. On instinct, Clarke rolled in the opposite direction, and kept rolling until she slammed into a table leg. With a strained screech of metal the entire bookshelf fell in a perfect arc and hit the carpeted floor where she’d been seconds before, sending books, pages, and broken spines outward in a wave. Suddenly, all the debris in the room began to settle, like someone had shut off a giant wind machine. 

A sharp pain in her palm caused her to shoot bolt upright, connecting her head to the side of the table.

“Dammit!” She swore, grimacing. The demon had bitten her, and blood was starting to trickle down her forehead from where she’d struck it against the table. She got to her feet, gingerly prodding her head with her free hand. It wasn’t too bad, probably wouldn’t need stitches, but head wounds always bled a lot and this one was no different. The world spun as she tried to get her bearings, and she leaned against the table to stay upright. Faces began to appear around her from under desks and behind stacks of books. A few of the students had been crying, one of the jocks held his side and moaned. Every eye was one her. 

Then she realized why they were staring: her hands were spotted with green pee, and her favorite T-shirt was liberally splashed as well. There was blood on her face and her jeans and she’d lost one of her tennis shoes. Her hair hung in a knotted mass a few inches over one shoulder. 

Heat bloomed in Clarke’s cheeks. _Trapper fails._

The demon tried to bite her again, and she shook the cup angrily to disorient it. It laughed and hissed mockingly at her. 

The librarian cleared her throat. “You dropped this,” she said, offering the lid. The woman’s hair looked like it had been styled in a wind tunnel, and she had a yellow sticky note stuck to her check with a phone number and “Call me ;)” scrawled on it. 

Clarke took the lid with a shaking hand and screwed it onto the cup, sealing the demon inside. 

 

It shouted obscenities in Hellspeak and used both hands to flip her off.

_Same to you, asshole._

The librarian surveyed the chaos and sighed. “To think we used to worry about silverfish.”

^

Clarke grimly watched the paramedics haul two students out on stretchers: One had a neck brace and the other babbled incoherently about the end of the world. Cell phones periodically erupted in a confused chorus of ringtones as parents and siblings got wind of the disaster. Some kids seemed over the moon, telling everyone at home just how cool it had been and that they were posting the videos to their YouTube channels. Others were frightened out of their minds, whimpering down the line and cradling their phones in shaking hands. 

It wasn’t fair. She’d done everything right. Well, not everything, but Biblios weren’t supposed to be psychokinetic. No grade one demon could possibly possess the power to cause a windstorm, but somehow this one had. She was struck by a sudden fear that the sippy cup wouldn’t be enough to hold it, and that it would escape again. Probably not, but she gave it an extra firm shake just to be sure. There could have been another demon in the library, but demons never worked in teams. 

_So who laughed at me?_ Her eyes slowly tracked over the remaining students. No clue. The cute blonde guy was stuffing books in his backpack. When she caught his eye, he just shook his head in disapproval. As if she were a naughty five year old.

 _Rich creep._ He had to be if he could still afford college.

Digging in her messenger bag she pulled out a bottle of warm Fanta and took several long swigs. It didn’t do much for the taste of old paper in the back of her throat, but the artificial orange flavor was grounding, and almost comforting, in the aftermath of the chaos. As she jammed the bottle back in her bag the demon bite flared in pain. It was starting to swell and her arm throbbed all the way up to her elbow. She needed to track down some holy water to treat it with, but the cops had told her not to move, and she didn’t think the library would appreciate her getting the carpet wet, particularly not in light of all of the mess she had already caused that day.

At least the cops weren’t asking her questions any more. One of them had tried to bully her into making a statement, but that had only made her mad. To shut him up she’d called her father. She’d only had time to tell him something had gone wrong before she’d had to hand the phone over to the cop.

“Mr. Griffin? We got a situation over here,” he huffed. 

Clarke shut her eyes. She tried not to listen to the conversation, but that proved impossible. When the cop started with the attitude, her father had calmly responded in his patented you-don’t-wanna-go-there voice. He’d perfected it in his days as a high school teacher, facing down mouthy teens and their complexes. Apparently campus cops were also susceptible to _the voice._ The officer murmured an apology and handed her the phone, bashful.

“Dad? I’m so sorry…” Frustratingly, tears began to build and her voice got thick. No way she’d cry in front of the cop, so Clarke turned her back on him. “I just,” she took a deep breath. “I don’t know what happened.”

There was total silence on the other end of the phone. _Why isn’t he saying anything? God, he must be so mad, I’m totally dead._

“Clarke, honey,” she could hear him take in a long breath. “You’re sure you aren’t hurt?” 

“Yeah,” he’d see the bite soon enough, but it would be fine after some holy water, and the blood on her forehead had finally stopped gushing. 

“As long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters.”

Somehow, Clarke didn’t think Tech would be that forgiving.

“I can’t get free here, so I’ll send someone to come get you. I don’t want you on MARTA, not after this.”

“Okay,” she tried to hide the fact that she was sniffling. All she wanted was her dad to be there.

More silence as the moments ticked by. She felt her heart tighten.

“Clarke, no matter what happens, I love you. Please remember that.”

Blinking her eyes to reign back the tears, Clarke stowed the phone in her messenger bag. She knew what her dad was thinking: Her trapping license was history.

_But I didn’t do anything wrong._

The librarian knelt next to hear chair. She’d brushed her hair back into place, and tidied her clothes somewhat. Clarke envied her. The world might end, but the librarian would still look neat. Maybe it was a librarian thing. A special course taught only to library science majors. 

“Sign this, would you?” The woman asked. 

Clarke expected a lengthy list of damages, and a payment plan to the university, but instead it was the requisition for payment of demon removal. The one a trapper signed when a job was done. 

“But -” Clarke began. 

“You caught him,” the librarian said, pointing toward the cup resting by Clarke’s left foot. “Besides, I looked at the chart. That wasn’t just one of the little guys, was it?”

Clarke shook her head and signed the form, though her fingers were still shaking.

“Good.” The librarian pushed back a strand of Clarke’s tangled hair and gave her a tentative smile. “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.” Then she was gone.

Clarke’s dad had said that to her right before her mom left, and again after their house burned to the ground. Adults always acted like they could fix everything.

_But they can’t. And they know it, too._


	2. Chapter 2

Forced to wait outside the library, Bellamy Blake gave a lengthy sigh as he ran a hand through his tangled curls. His mentor’s kid had just topped the list for Biggest Apprentice Screwup, beating him out for the top spot. Who had thought that she could outdo his nightmare fiasco capture of a Pyro-fiend in a MARTA station at rush hour? A disaster that had required not only the fire department, but a hazmat team to clear out.

“But somehow you did it, Princess,” He muttered to himself, shaking his head. It upset him, cause he knew exactly what was coming for her at the Guild meeting that night. “Damn, girl. There’s gonna be hell to pay for this.”

He rolled his shoulders in a futile attempt to release some of the tension there. He’d been wired ever since Jake had called him to say that Clarke was in trouble. He’d been on his way to the library before he’d even hung up. He owed Jake Griffin nothing less.

Barred from entering by the cops, he’d cooled his heels chatting with some of the students who’d been inside during the trapping. It’d been easy to get information – he was about the same age as most of them. A few reported they’d seen Clarke successfully capture a small demon, but none of them were clear as to what happened next.

 _Something’s not right_ The thought plagued him, a dark undercurrent to his interactions with the students. A Biblio-fiend could make a decent mess, but that didn’t usually involve emergency personnel.

A pair of college girls walked by, eyeing him. Apparently they liked what they saw. He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin and smiled back, somewhat absently. He couldn’t think about anything else until he knew that Clarke was okay.

A campus cop came within range, the one who’d told him he wasn’t allowed inside. They’d traded harsh words, but Bellamy had decided not to push the issue. He couldn’t collect Jake’s daughter if he was handcuffed in the back of a police car.

“Can I go in now?” Bellamy called out.

“Not yet,” the cop said gruffly.

“What about the demon trapper? She okay?”

“Yeah, she’ll be out pretty soon. I can’t imagine why you’d send a girl after one of those things.”

Bellamy clenched his fist so hard he could feel his nails start to cut into his palm. The cop wasn’t the only asshole thinking along those lines.

“It’s not legal if she’s being questioned without a senior trapper there,” he warned instead of punching the cop like he wanted to.

“Yeah, yeah. Your rules, not ours,” the man replied. “Nothing we care about.”

“Not until you get a demon up your ass. Then you’re all over us.”

The cop snorted, hands on his hips. “I just don’t understand why you don’t cap their asses, like those demon hunters do. Y’all look like sissies with your spheres and your little plastic cups.”

Bellamy bristled at the insult. Home many times had he tried to explain the difference between a trapper and a hunter? Trapping a demon took skill. The Vatican’s boys didn’t bother; they went for firepower. To hunters, the only good demon was a dead demon. No talent needed. There were other differences, but that was pretty much the dividing line. The average Joe, or cop in this case, just didn’t get it.

Bellamy summed it up, trying not to sound too gruff. “We got skills. They got weapons. We need talent. They don’t.”  
“I don’t know. They look pretty good on that TV show.”

Bellamy didn’t really know much about the show the cop was talking about. He knew that a show was starting on HBO about a bunch of hunters, but he steered clear of it on principle.

“I wouldn’t know. The hunters live like monks. Or a celibate navy SEAL. Plus, they’ve got about as much humor as a junkyard dog.”

“Jealous?” The cop chided. Bellamy rolled his eyes. The cop was really starting to grate on him.

“No way. When I’m done with my work I can go have a beer and get laid. Those guys can’t.”

“Damn,” the cop muttered. “Nothing like _Demonland_ ”

Thankfully, Bellamy’s phone chose that moment to burst into song: “Georgia On My Mind” drifted across the parking lot, earning him a few stares.

“Jake,” Bellamy said, not bothering to check the caller ID. It could only be the girl’s dad.

“What happened?” the man asked, his voice on edge.

Bellamy gave him a brief rundown of the situation, so far as he knew it.

“Let me know the moment she’s out,” Jake insisted.

“Will do. You trap the Pyro?”

“Yeah. I’m trying to get away, but it looks like I’m stuck here until the paperwork’s through.”

Bellamy grimaced. He hated paperwork as much as the next trapper. With Clarke still inside, Jake would be going mad.

“No sweat. I’ll keep an eye on things for you.”

“Thanks, Bell.”

Bellamy grimaced at the name as he shoved his phone back into his pants pocket. Jake was the only person after Octavia to call him that, and it hurt every time, but he couldn’t deny his master that. He’d heard the worry in his friend’s voice. Jake was a fanatic about keeping his apprentices safe, and even more so when it came to his daughter. It’s why he slowed her training to a snail’s pace, hoping she’d change her mind and pick a safer profession. Like walking the high wire for a living, maybe.

 _Not gonna work_. He’d told Jake that countless times, but he wouldn’t listen. Clarke would be a trapper whether her father approved or not. She had that same stubborn streak as Abby.

Bellamy’s attention moved to the news crew positioned like vultures near the building’s entrance. He knew the lead reporter. Macallan, or Monaghue, or something like that. He’d covered Bellamy’s catastrophe. The media loved anything to do with demon trapping as long as it went wrong. A nice quiet trapping in an alley somewhere would never land on tape. A Hellfiend going beserk in a train station or a law library and they were all over it.

A lone figure appeared out of the milling crowd. It took Bellamy a moment to recognize her. Clarke clutched her messenger bag to her side with white knuckles like it held the crown jewels. Her blonde hair was a mass of tangles, and dried blood coated one half of her face.

When the newshound went for her, Bellamy went on alert, wondering if he would need to run interference for her. Clarke shook her head at the reporter though, and shoved the microphone out of her face.

 _Smart girl_.

For a second she seemed lost, and impossibly small amidst the throng of reporters, but then she caught sight of him and squared her shoulders, heading his way. Her expression turned stormy, well. No surprise there. When she was fifteen she’d had a huge crush on him, despite the five year age gap. He’d just begun his apprenticeship with her dad, and she was just a child, so he’d done the smart thing: He avoided the kid like Hell, and hoped she’d latch onto someone else. She had, but that story didn’t have a happy ending either. In the end, Clarke got over her puppy love, but not the hurt feelings. It didn’t help that he spent more time with her father than she did.

He fished his phone out again and called Jake. “She’s okay.”

“Thank God. They’ve called an emergency Guild meeting. Warn her what she’s in for.”

“Will do.” Bellamy hung up and turned to face Clarke.

She’d halted a few feet away, her eyes narrowing at him. There was a rip in the leg of her jeans, dried blood on her face, and streaks of green on her hands and clothes. One earring was missing.

Bellamy could play this two ways – sympathy or sarcasm. She wouldn’t believe the former, not coming from him, so that left the latter.

He cracked a mock grin. “Damn, kid. I’m in awe. If you can do that damage going after a one, I can’t wait to see what you got in mind for a five.”

Her icy blue eyes flared. “I’m not a kid.”

“You are by my calendar,” he said, gesturing to his old Ford pickup. “Get in.”

“I don’t hang with geezers,” she snapped back.

Bellamy blinked. “I’m not old.”

“Then stop acting like it.”

Seeing that she wasn’t going to give an inch, he opted to just move on. “Emergency Guild meeting tonight.”

“So why aren’t you there?”

“We’ll both be, just as soon as you get in the damn truck.”

Realization flared in her eyes. “The meeting’s about me?”

“Duh. Who else?”

“Oh…”

When she reached for the door handle, she hesitated. Bellamy cursed himself for not recognizing the way she held her hand earlier. “Demon bite you?” A reluctant nod. “Did you treat it?”

“No.” She snapped. “And don’t bitch at me. That’s the last thing I need right now.”

Grumbling to himself, Bellamy dug in the trapping bag in the front seat. Pulling out a pint of Holy Water and a cloth bandage, he headed around the truck.

Clarke leaned on the door, weary, eyes not really focusing on much. She was shivering now, probably more from the experience than any cold.

“This is gonna hurt.” He angled his head towards the news van. “It would be best if you keep it quiet. We don’t want them over here.”

She nodded and closed her eyes, offering her hand. He gently turned it over, studying the wound. Deep, but it didn’t need stitches. The demon’s teeth hadn’t ripped so much as sliced. The Holy Water would do the trick, and it would heal just fine on it’s own.

Clarke winced and clenched her jaw as the sanctified liquid touched the wound. It bubbled and vaporized like supernatural hydrogen peroxide, removing the demonic taint. When the liquid had entirely evaporated her shot a quick look at her face. Her eyes were open now, watering a bit, but she’d uttered not a peep.

_Tough, just like her daddy_

A few quick wraps of a bandage, a little tape, and it was done.

“That’ll do,” he said. “In you go.”

He thought he heard a reluctant “Thanks” as she climbed into the truck, still clutching the messenger bag. Bellamy hopped in, elbowed the door lock, and started the engine. He pushed the heater control to the highest mark. He’d broil, but Clarke looked like she needed it.

 

“Do you really use that thing?” she asked, pointing a green tipped finger at the steel pipe that poked out of the top of the duffel bag on the seat between them.

 

“Sure do. Handy for threes when they get rowdy. Really good if they get their claws in you.”

 

“How?” she asked, frowning.

 

“Gives you leverage to push the fiend away. Of course, that rips the claw out, but that’s for the best. Worst case, a claw breaks of inside you and your body starts to rot.” He paused for effect. “It’s this really gross brown goo.”

 

He’d been graphic on purpose, testing her. If she was squeamish she might as well give up now. He waited for her reaction, but there was none. _Like Octavia_ his subconscious thought traitorously. Octavia used to love to watch the goriest, bloodiest slasher films they could find on late night television. He’d always worried they’d give her nightmares, but it was the real life monsters that did that.

 

“So what happened back there?” he asked, tearing his mind off of Octavia.

 

Clarke turned towards the window, cradling her injured hand. 

 

“Okay, don’t tell me. I just thought we could talk it out, figure out where it went wrong. I’ve had my ass chewed by the Guild plenty of times, so i thought I could give you some pointers.”

 

Her shoulders convulsed, and for a moment he thought she was gonna cry.

 

“I did everything like I was supposed to,” she whispered hoarsely. 

 

“So tell me everything that happened.”

 

He listened intently as she told him every detail of how she’d trapped the Biblio. She really had done almost everything right.

 

“You said the books were flying all over the place?” he quizzed. 

 

“Yeah, and the bookshelf tore itself right out of the wall. I thought it was going to crush me.

 

Bellamy’s gut knotted. None of this was right. To calm his worries, he thought back to how Jake had handled him after the MARTA incident when he was sure his career was over. “What would you different next time?”

 

Clarke’s misty eyes swung towards him. “Next time? Get real. They’re going to throw me out of the Guild and laugh about this for years. Dad is so disappointed in me. I totally blew it. We won’t be able to pay the - “ She looked away, but not before he caught sight of a tear rolling down one abraded cheek.

 

 _Medical bills_. The one’s left behind in the wake of Clarke’s childhood cancer. From what Jake had told him, they were barely getting by. It was why they lived in a dinky-ass apartment that used to be a hotel room and why Clarke pushed herself so hard to learn the business. Why Jake had to take any trapping job he could find, though it cost him time with his only child. 

 

Troubled silence fell between them as Bellamy concentrated on traffic and what the evening might bring. The trappers weren’t easy about change, and having a girl as one of their own made a lot of them downright pissy. Clarke needed to talk it out, get over the guilt before the meeting, or they’d eat her alive. 

 

After honking at a rusty MINI Cooper that cut him off, he took the turn toward downtown. The intersection ahead of them was a tangle of bikes and motor scooters. One guy was pushing a shopping cart filled with old tires, another was on rollerblades, his hair streaming behind him, gliding through traffic like a speed skater. Nowadays, people used whatever it took to get around the city. With the ridiculous cost of gas, even horses made sense now.

 

The biggest problem was the empty air above the intersection: the traffic lights were gone. 

 

“They keep this up and there won’t be one damned light left in the city,” Bellamy complained. 

 

Most of them had been stolen and sold for scrap by metal thieves. It took some guts to climb up on those things in the middle of the night and dismantle them. Every now and then a thief slipped and ended up a grease spot on the road, buried in a tangle of metal. 

 

Like so many things, the city turned a blind eye to the thievery, saying they couldn’t afford to replace every missing light. Too many other things to worry about in this bankrupt capital of five million souls. 

 

Bellamy nearly clipped some idiot on a moped, and then made it through the intersection; his hands were gripped on the wheel tighter than was strictly necessary. 

 

_Talk to me, Princess. You can’t do this alone._

 

Clarke flipped down the visor and stared into the dusty mirror. 

 

“Holy shit,” she said. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she gingerly touched the green areas where the demon pee had dyed her skin. 

 

“It’ll be gone in a few days,” Bellamy said, trying to sound helpful. 

 

“It has to be gone by tomorrow night. I’ve got school.”

 

“Just tell ‘em you’re a trapper. That oughta impress them.”

 

“Wrong! The trick is to blend in, Bellamy. Not glow like a radioactive frog!”

 

He shrugged. He’d never blended in and didn’t see why it mattered that much. But maybe to a girl it did.

 

Turning to the mirror, Clarke began to dislodge the tangles. Tears formed as she pulled a brush through her long hair. It took time to get presentable. She cleaned the blood off of her face with a wet tissue and put on some lip gloss, but apparently decided it didn’t work with the splotchy green and wiped it off with her sleeve. 

 

It was only then that she looked over at him and took a deep breath. 

 

“I should have… treated the doorway to the Rare Book Room with Holy Water. That way if the demon got loose, he wouldn’t have been able to get in there.”

 

“Dead right. Not protecting that room is the only mistake I see. Being a good trapper is just a matter of learning from your mistakes before they can kill you.”

 

“But you never learn,” she snapped.

 

“Maybe so, but I’m not the one who’s gonna get my ass reamed by the Guild tonight.”

 

“Thanks, I’d so forgotten that,” she said, oozing sarcasm. “Why were the books flying all over the place?”

 

“I’d say the Biblio had backup.”

 

She shook her head. “Dad says demons don’t work together. That the higher level fiends think the little ones are nuisances, like cockroaches.”

 

“They do, but I’ll bet there was another demon in that library somewhere. Did you smell sulfur?” Clarke shrugged. “See anyone watching you?”

 

She gave a bark of bitter laughter. “All of them, Bellamy. Every single one of them. I looked like a total moron.”

 

He’d been there often enough to know how that felt, but right now that wasn’t the issue. Why would a senior demon play games with an apprentice trapper? What was the point? She wasn’t a threat to Hell in any real sense. 

 

 _At least not yet_.

 

Clarke shut down after that, staring out the passenger-side window and fidgeting with the strap on her bag. Bellamy had a lot of things he wanted to say - like how he was proud of her for holding up as well as she did. Jake always said the mark of a good trapper is how he handled the bad stuff, but telling Clarke that wouldn’t work. She’d only believe it if she heard it from her father, not someone she considered to be her enemy.

 

They passed a long line of ragged folks waiting their turn to get a meal at the soup kitchen on the grounds of the Jimmy Carter Library. The line’s length hadn’t shortened any fromm the last month, which meant the economy wasn’t doing any better. Some blamed the demons and their devious master for the city’s financial problems. Bellamy blamed the politicians for being too busy taking kickbacks and not paying attention to their job. In most ways, Atlanta was slowly going to hell. Somehow he didn’t think Lucifer would object. 

 

A few minutes later he parked in a junk-strewn lot across from the Tabernacle and turned off the engine. He was used to the ass chewing, but the princess wasn’t. If there was any way he could take her place tonight, he would, without thinking twice. But that wasn’t the way things worked around here. 

 

“One piece of advice: don’t piss them off.”

 

Clarke glared at him. “You always do.” 

 

“The rules are different for me.”

 

“Because I’m a girl, is that it?” When he didn’t answer, she demanded, “Is. That. It?”

 

“Yeah,” he admitted. “As long as you know that going in.”

 

She hopped out of the truck, hammered down the lock with her uninjured fist, and slammed the door hard enough to make his teeth rattle. A green finger jabbed in his direction the moment he stepped out. 

 

“I’m not backing down. I’m Jake Griffin’s daughter. Even the demons know who I am. Someday, I’m going to be as good as my dad and the trappers will just have to deal. That includes you, buddy.”

 

“The fiends know your name?” Bellamy asked, taken aback.

 

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” She squared her shoulders. “Now, let’s get this over with. I’ve got homework to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! All five of you! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm on the market for a beta for this work, if anyone's interested.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's still reading this! A brief note - I've gotten several compliments about the world building here, but credit for that has to go to Jana Oliver, who write the Demon Trapper's Daughter. I'm just using her universe for my own ends.

Clarke paused on the sidewalk, trying to hide the fact that she was shaking. Her outburst to Bellamy had cost her what little energy she had remaining. What she needed was some hot cocoa and a long nap, but instead she had to go deal with the Guild. She could already hear the laughter in her head, see the smirks on all the faces of the good ol’ boys. She’d get chewed out, followed by some sexist remarks, and finally the crude jokes. Wallace was particularly good at those. 

_I don’t deserve this_. The other apprentices made mistakes too, but none of them had ever warranted an emergency Guild meeting. 

The sun was setting, and for a moment she could believe that there was no disappointed father waiting inside for her. That the old building wasn’t full of trappers waiting to tear her to pieces. Her nose caught the delicious scent of roasting meat. Smoke rose in thin, trailing columns from a bunch of wood fires over in Centennial Park. The grounds were dotted with multicolored tents, like a ren faire come to life and stuffed full of people in modern dress.

They called it the Terminus Market, after the city’s original name. At first it’d just been open for the weekends, but over time it’d become a more regular thing until it was a permanent fixture. As the economy got worse the market got larger, filling the missing holes as the old businesses went under. A tangle of people wandered the grounds as vendors called to them from tables piled high with goods. She could hear a low baritone voice call out that he had fresh baked bread for sale and her mouth watered. You could buy or barter almost anything in the Market, from live goats to the magical spheres of the kind that trappers used to slow their prey. If the vendor didn’t have what you wanted straight up, then the next night he would, not questions asked. 

“Sign of the times,: Bellamy said under his breath. “Not that it’s right.”

Caught by the deep frown on his face she followed his gaze. On the sidewalk was a dead guy, loaded down with packages from the market. He wore clean clothes and his hair was combed, but you could tell that he was dead. The pasty grey complexion and zoned out expression gave it away every time. He stood a few steps behind his ‘owner’, a thirty-something Asian woman wearing designer jeans with “Crafty Bitch” bedazzled on the ass. Everything about her shouted money, from the sleek purple hair to the car, no solar panel on top. She wasn’t concerned about how much a gallon of gas might cost. No dents, no rust, just shiny and clean and new. 

_Probably has the dead guy clean it_.

From what Clarke had heard, a Deader wasn’t like a zombie in the movies, just a sad reminder of a past life. For people with money they were the perfect servants. They never asked for vacation and they weren’t entitled to wages. Under federal law, Deaders had no legal rights and once a necro pulled one from its grave it was good for nearly a year, the downside of modern embalming techniques. When it inevitably started rotting where it stood it was buried again, if the owner was compassionate. If not, the Deader would be found abandoned in a dumpster somewhere. 

“It’s just wrong. They’re slaves.” She said. “Once you’re dead you should be left alone.”

“Amen to that.” Bellamy cleared his throat. “Well, at least you won’t have to deal with that. If a trapper gets chewed up by a demon, the necros won’t want them.”

 _Now that’s great news_.

Clarke watched as the Deader piled the packages into the trunk of a car. When he was done he climbed patiently into the backseat. They were good at simple tasks, but their brains couldn’t process information quickly enough for driving. 

Clarke turned back towards their destination. Built of red brick, the Tabernacle clocked in at over a hundred years old. Once upon a time it had been a Baptist church, then a concert hall. She’d come here to see a show a few years ago to celebrate her dad’s thirty-fifth birthday. The first one he’d had since Abby left. Back when their house in Buckhead was still standing, and they were keeping up with payments on the medical bills, and everything was good.

Bellamy paused at the entrance, leaning against the rope that served as a handrail. Once they had been metal, but they’d been looted by metal thieves long ago. Still holding his trapper’s bag he turned towards her, his face stiff and solemn. 

“It’s not just because you’re a girl,” he said in a lowered voice, his mind still on their earlier conversation. “A lot of these guys are getting older, and they see the younger trappers as competition.” 

“Like you?”

He nodded. “Don’t expect a good time, right? But don’t let them push you around either. It was a good trapping gone wrong. That’s happened to every single bastard in there. Don’t let them tell you any different.”

Then he left her on the street, his stride long and quick, putting distance between them. Like he didn’t want to be seen with her.

Her dad was waiting inside that building. What would he say? Would he tell the Guild that he’d made a mistake in vouching for her? That she wasn’t trapper material? Or would he try to defend her?

 _If he does, they’ll eat him alive_.

That thought pushed her forward. Her father wasn’t going to face this alone. It was her fuck-up, and she needed to take responsibility for it.

Clarke limpeed up the steps and entered the building, closing the street door behind her. Nothing much had changed since the last Guild meeting: Cobwebs still hung from the ceiling, and the floors were covered by a permanent layer of ticket stubs and pieces of Solo cups. A sneeze overtook her at the dust, and then another. Pulling a tissue out of her back pocket, she blew her nose as she wandered into the huge auditorium. It was a vast space with uncomfortable wooden benches in three sections that rose to the rear of the building, most of it unlit. There was once a beautiful old pipe organ, but most of it was gone now. Metal was too valuable to just leave lying around.

On the floor in front of her was a wet line in the dust that encircled the area where the meeting was being held. Why the trappers bothered to have a Holy Water ward never made sense to Clarke. No demon would wander willy-nilly into a room full of trappers. It’d be a super dumb move. Still, it was tradition, and it fell to an apprentice to ensure the ward was properly applied. One day soon it would be her turn.

This was only the second time she’d been in front of the Guild. The first hadn’t been a blast, with lots of argument going over her head about whether or not to issue her an apprenticeship. Most of the trappers hadn’t really cared either way, but a few clearly resented her. Not because of her dad, but because she was a girl. Those would be her biggest opponents tonight.

 _And I handed them all the ammunition they’d need on a fucking silver platter_.

Only the ground floor General Admissions section was illuminated. Above her, dust motes hovered in the bright streams of light pouring down from the floods. The lights doubled as a heat source, which left the rest of the building uncomfortably chilly.

The meeting had already started, and her dad was at one of the round banquet tables, arms crossed. It was his you’re-standing-on-my-last-nerve pose. He’d perfected it teaching biochemistry to snotty-nosed high schoolers back before the demons came.He was wearing his Emory sweatshirt and a worn suede jacket with faded blue jeans. His brown hair was going grey at the temples and was in desperate need of a trim. Just like an average dad - except for the trapper’s bag that sat by his feet. 

“How’d a simple job go so far off the rails, Griffin?” a man asked. He had perfectly coiffed hair and an oddly flat face, except for the hook shaped scar that ran from his hairline all the way to his jaw on the right side of his face. His nose had been broken and hadn’t healed quite right. It made him look like something in between a pirate and a convict. 

_Wallace_. The youngest of the three master trappers in the Atlanta Guild.

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” her dad replied, his voice soft but clipped. “Clarke should be here soon; then we can hear the whole story.”

“I don’t care if she’s here or not. She’s done as far as I’m concerned,” Wallace replied. The sneer on his face pulled the scar out of alignment. 

“We’ve all made mistakes.” Her dad pointed toward a blonde man lounging with his boots up on the table. “Wick destroyed a courtroom trying to trap a four right after he made journeyman. These things happen.”

“What did I know?” Wick said, grinning broadly and folding his hands behind his head. “The defense lawyer acted just like a demon. I’m still getting sued over that one.”

There was scattered laughter.

Her dad nodded. “My point is that Clarke is smart and she listens to instructions. She’ll learn from this and the next trapping will be picture perfect.”

“That’s better than your last apprentice,” someone called out. “He never did listen.”

Bellamy cleared his throat and stepped into the circle of light. “Evening y’all,” he said.

“Speak of the devil,” the same trapper called out. “What do you say about this, Mile High?”

From the way Bellamy tensed, Clarke could tell he didn’t like the nickname. He just shrugged and parked himself at her father’s table. Then he pulled a battered copy of _The Iliad_ out of his duffel bag and cracked it open to an earmarked page. Leaning back in his chair he began reading and promptly shut everything else out.

 _You selfish bastard_. He wasn’t going to stand up for her. How many times had Jake Griffin saved his ass? _So much for gratitude_.

Gnawing on the inside of her lip until she drew blood, Clarke stepped into the light, blinking to clear the spots from her vision. Some of the trappers snickered when they saw her, but she held her ground, hands knotted at her sides.

“There’s Little Miss Fuckup now,” Wallace said. 

Clarke’s father glared. “Keep it clean, Wallace.”

“If she can’t take it, then she might as well walk out right now.”

“There’s no need to be crude,” another trapper said. It was Jackson, the Guild treasurer. Before the demons he’d worked with Abby at Grady, but he was cut in the first round of lay-offs.

All Clarke really wanted was to run into her father’s arms, but she took her time crossing to him. She refused to play the scared little girl they all thought she was, even if that might be all she really was. 

Her dad stood and placed his hands on her shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes. When he saw the damage to her face her winced. 

“You okay?” she nodded. He squeezed her shoulders in support. “Then tell them what happened.”

He treated her like an adult, not a frightened kid. That alone gave her the courage to face what lay before her.

She scanned the circle of men around her. There were about thirty of them, most were middle aged, like her dad. They’d become trappers when their other careers ended, destroyed by an economy that hit rock bottom, and then kept on digging. Bitterness hung on them like a heavy winter coat.

Clarke cleared her throat, mentally preparing herself. Wallace snapped his fingers impatiently. “Come on, spill the fucking sob story already. We don’t have all damned night.”

“Don’t let him goad you,” her father murmured. 

Willing her voice not to quaver, she gave her report. Her words sounded so insignificant in the cavernous building. A kitten mewling to a pack of starving wolves.

When she finished Wallace huffed and crossed his arms, revealing the blood red tattoo on his forearm. It was a hyena with a writhing fiend clamped in its jaws.

“Demons don’t work together,” he said. “Every apprentice knows that. Except maybe you.”

He made it sound like she was lying.

“How else can you explain all the damage?” Wick asked.

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Wallace said. “All that matters is that this bitch,” he pointed a perfectly manicured finger at Clarke. “Has made us the laughingstock of the city.”

Murmuring broke out among the men.

“It’s not as easy as that,” her dad began. “If the demons are banding together, we need to know why they’ve changed tactics.”

“You're just trying to save your brat’s ass, Griffin. She would never have been given a license in the first place if she hadn’t been your daughter.”

Bellamy stirred and slammed his book down with a soft _thwapp_. “Why not? She met all the requirements.”

Wallace swung his dark gaze towards him. “Why do you suddenly give a shit? Looking to get a piece of that, are you?”

Clarke’s dad shifted in his chair, his face growing red with anger. Bellamy, on the other hand, was icy calm. She hadn’t expected that of him.

He stared down the master trapper for a long moment before taking a swig from his water bottle. “Nah, she’s too young. I don’t mess with anyone who can’t buy their own beer yet.”

“Damn straight,” someone called out. “Nothing more than jailbait.”

Her father’s frown deepened. 

“I say we take a look at the library security tapes,” Bellamy said in a thick drawl, thicker than usual. “That’ll tell us if there was another demon there.”

“That’ll take too long to get them. We need to vote on this.” Wallace argued. 

“We don’t need the tapes, Master.” That was Finn Collins, Wallace’s apprentice. He was tall and brown-eyed with floppy brown hair pulled back in a short ponytail. He was the kind of straight-forward attractive that you saw in movie stars and Target models. A couple of years older than her, Finn wore jeans and a Blessid Union of Souls T-shirt. A wooden cross hung from a thick leather cord around his neck. 

“There’s already video of it on YouTube.” He said, gesturing towards a laptop on the table in front of him. She was surprised he’d bring something so precious into this dustbowl.

Wallace threw him a furious look. “Who the hell asked you?”

“Sorry,” Finn replied, “but I thought we’d want to know the truth.”

“You keep your goddamned mouth shut unless I say otherwise, got it?”

Finn winced at the blasphemy. 

Bellamy cut in. “Come on now, Finn’s doing what any good trapper would do - keeping tabs on the demons. That’s what you’re teaching him, isn’t it?”

Wallace’s face turned dark with anger, making his scar stand out.

“Let’s see it,” Jackson called out. “Maybe it’ll make our report to the Church easier.”

 _The Church_. The trappers only captured the demons; the Church was responsible for dealing with them after that. It was a complex arrangement, but it had held together well enough. The Guild always went out of its way not to piss of the Church.

Finn tapped on his keyboard as men crowded around. There were too many trappers, so it looked like they’d have to take turns watching on the small screen. A running commentary began at the same time as the video. 

“Damn, look at that flying tackle,” Wick said. “That had to hurt.”

 _It had_.

“She got him!” one of them had called out. 

“Oh my God, look at the -”

 _Bookshelves_. A tremendous crash came from the tinny computer speakers. Exhausted and shaking, Clarke sank into the nearest chair. Her dad pushed a bottle of water her way. She twisted off the plastic cap and sucked the tepid liquid down, gulp after gulp. Her stomach rumbled, a reminder that she hadn’t eaten that day.

Her dad hadn’t hurried over to watch the video. There could only be one reason for that. _He thinks I really did screw up_.

That hurt more than the burning demon bite. 

Finally, Finn set the laptop in front of her father. “Just press this key and it’ll play,” he said. He gave Clarke a quick smile and retreated. 

Trappers moved in behind her, talking amongst themselves. One of them was Bellamy. She gritted her teeth at what was to come.

“You ready?” her dad asked.

She shrugged.

It was worse the second time around. Like watching one of the _Demonland_ episodes on TV, only this time she was the star and there was no stunt double. Whoever captured the video did a pretty decent job, though the frame would swing wildly every so often. 

_This is all over the internet_. People in foreign countries would be watching this and laughing at her. Mocking her. The video was already topping a million views. 

“Look at all that stuff flying around,” someone exclaimed. 

Bellamy sucked in a sharp breath as the bookshelves took their nosedive. The final clip of the video showed Clarke limping out of the library, bloody and battered. 

“My God,” her father whispered, pulling her tight into his side and dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “You did very well, Clarke. I’m so proud of you.”

Her mouth fell open as the tears threatened to return. 

“Ditto,” Bellamy said, as he returned to his book.

When she looked up, all eyes her on her. A couple of trappers gave her a brief nod of respect. Jackson looked over at Wallace, then back at her.

“That sure as Hell wasn’t a grade one,” he said.

“I agree. That’s a geo-fiend for sure,” someone else said.

Wallace straightened up. “Doesn’t matter. We can’t give this a fucking pass. Makes us look bad.”

“Oh, go screw yourself, Wallace,” Jackson growled. “You’ve hated every apprentice we’ve had. Those you train you treat like dirt. I would know.”

“If you weren’t such a jerk-off, Jackson,” the master began.

Her dad tugged on her sleeve. “Why don’t you go wait outside? It’s going to get nasty, and I’d rather you not hear it.”

“But what about my license?” she asked.

“That’s why it’s going to get nasty.”

_Oh. Fuck._

Bellamy tossed his keys on the table in front of her. “Keep the Biblio company, will you?” He’s probably missing you by now.”

She glowered at him.

Her father intervened. “Wait in the truck and lock the doors. I’ll be out soon. Go on, it’ll be okay.”

 _It’ll be okay_. It sounded like a curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Finn shows up! As much as I'd have liked to avoid it, he's going to be a major player here for a while. Bellamy and Clarke are still endgame, I promise.
> 
> Also, sorry about any typos - please feel free to point them out to me! I wrote this after 14 hours of babysitting a sick 18 month old, and I'm still looking for a beta.


	4. Chapter Four

The moment Clarke reached the truck she kicked the closest tire, imagining it to be Bellamy’s head. It was a stupid thing to do because now her foot ached like the rest of her. Her anger wouldn’t make a bit of difference. If Wallace bullied the others long enough they’d revoke her apprentice license. Once they voted her out, she was done. There was no going back.

_Then what?_ She’d have to get a job waiting tables or something. _Or something_.

A chittering sound brought her eyes upward as a whirl of bats exploded from under the Tabernacle’s eves. She watched them skitter away into the dusk, envying their freedom. In the distance a thin chorus of howls echoed in the streets. Coyotes. They hunted every night, slinking around in packs looking for a stray meal to wander their way. The city was slowly reverting to nature’s laws. 

She eyed Bellamy’s ride. It was so him. Who else would drive around the city in a beat up old Toyota Forerunner with the official Trappers Guild emblem in the window? 

She unlocked the door and climbed in, eager to get out of the cold. The interior smelled like the owner’s leather jacket. Digging under the seat, she retrieved her demon and stuck it in her bag. It offered her a favor to free it and she managed a perfect “fuck you” back in hellspeak. She ignored the fiend’s middle finger. Sometimes the sippy cup’s transparent sides weren’t a blessing. 

_How long is this gonna take?_ “Just vote me off the island and move on,” she groused. If it took too long she’d have to start the truck to get some heat, but she hated to waste Bellamy’s gas like that. 

To try and keep her mind off all the drama, Clarke raided the glove compartment. It was a lot like snooping in someone’s medicine cabinet: You learned a lot about a person that way. The first thing she found was a gun. She wished that surprised her. Trappers had to be prepared for every situation. She cautiously pushed it out of the way. Next up was a flashlight. She flicked it on and spied the condoms. Three of them, marked “XL”. 

Clarke snorted. “In your dreams.” Then she hit pay dirt - Bellamy’s Trapper’s Manual. 

Apprentices received their manuals in sections as they progressed through their training to prevent them from going after bigger demons before they were ready. All she had was the section about Grade Ones, like the Biblio-Fiends. Bellamy Blake was a journeyman trapper, one step below a master. This manual had almost all of the good stuff, except the parts on archdemons. 

Clarke hesitated. They were gonna kick her out anyway, so why bother?

_But what if they don’t?_ She’d never get an opportunity like this again. She did a mental coin flip and curiosity one. It always did with her.

Clarke made sure the doors were locked, then she angled her body so the flashlight hit the pages and began to read, lured like the time she’d found her mom’s stash of steamy romance novels. 

“Grade Three demons are territorial and best known for their ability to completely gut and eat a full grown human being in under fifteen minutes.”

_Maybe this isn’t such a good idea._

She’d just started to read the section on trapping Threes when a knock came at the window. Clarke jumped. After frantically jamming the book and flashlight back into the glove compartment she looked up. It was Finn, Wallace’s apprentice. Embarrassed at being caught, she sheepishly clambered out of the truck. 

“Sorry I scared you,” he said, stepping back a few paces, seeming to understand she needed her space. “I thought I’d check and see how you’re doing.”

Here she was, chatting to the first cute guy who’d shown an interest in her in actual years, and she was covered in demon pee. Obviously the universe hated her.

She tried to run a hand through her hair, but the bandage pretty much put an end to that effort. Feeling like she should say something, Clarke stammered “I was...was reading…”

A slow grin crawled over Finn’s face as he adjusted the computer bag on his shoulder. “...The manual, yeah I saw. But it wasn’t yours, was it? Too thick.”

She slumped back against the truck. “It’s Bellamy’s. You won’t say anything, will you?”

Finn shook his head. “I pulled the same stunt with Wallace’s manual, except he was the one who caught me.” His face darkened at the memory. 

“Dad doesn’t tell me anything. I hate it.” A moment after she vented, she wondered if that was a good thing. Could she trust Finn?

“Wallace’s the same way, and then he yells at me whenever I don’t know something he thinks I should.” Finn frowned. “I’ll make journeyman just to prove him wrong.”

“I won’t.” Clarke sighed. “They’re gonna throw me out.”

“You never know,” he said. “Some of them were pretty impressed.” He paused and then added “I think you were awesome.”

That caught her off guard. “Ah...thanks!”

Finn smiled and suddenly she didn’t feel so cold anymore. 

They heard voices: Bellamy and her dad were headed in their direction. Neither of the looked happy. Bellamy was gesturing, and she thought she heard a few colorful words. 

FInn began to edge away. “Better go. It was nice to formally meet you, Clarke,” he said. 

“You too, Finn.” RIght before he crossed the street, he looked back at her. She waved and his smile widened. 

_He’s really cute_

Clarke hopped into the truck to grab the Biblio that had caused all the problems to begin with. THe flashlight was still on inside the glove compartment, issuing a glow around the edge of the door. She hurriedly switched it off and shoved the glovebox back closed, then grabbed her messenger bag. 

“I see Finn was keeping you company,” her father said as he walked up. “I’m glad he checked on you.”

That made her feel better. If her dad liked the apprentice, then he was probably okay.

“So? What’s the verdict?” she asked, clenching her hands into fists to prepare for the bad news. The one with the demon bite promptly throbbed in response. “They tossed me out, didn’t they?”

“You’re still an apprentice, for the time being,” her dad announced. “The video convinced them there was another demon present, one that you weren’t qualified to trap. The next time there’s any kind of problem, you’re out.”

They weren’t telling her everything. “And?” she pressed.

Her dad and Bellamy traded looks. 

“There’s also sanctions against me,” her dad replied. “If you lose your license I won’t be able to take on another apprentice for a year.”

“That was Wallace’s little roadside bomb,” Bellamy grumbled. “Miserable bastard.”

Clarke was stunned. Her dad was a born teacher, whether it was engineering classes at the university or bringing a new trapper up through the ranks. Not only would he lose his biggest joy in life, but also the stipend he was paid for training new members. That money bought their groceries. No apprentice, no food. It was that simple. 

“Bottom line, you’re still in the Guild. We’ll worry about the rest later.” Her dad put his arm around her. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“Yeah, I hear she’s got homework to do,” Bellamy chided. 

She threw him a glare, but didn’t bother coming up with a witty reply. He was the least of her hassles.

\---

As they pulled out of the Grounders drive-thru, Clarke’s hot chocolate steamed up the side window and made her feel good for the first time all day. She had to admit that it wasn’t only the sugary beverage. She was with her dad, and that always made her feel better. The feeling wouldn’t last, though. Once they got home he’d take off with Bellamy for yet another night of trapping. They’d been trying to capture a Three down in Little Five Points and it kept getting away. Now it was a matter of pride for them.

Clarke knew it was selfish to be upset that he was gone all the time. She knew that they needed the money, but sometimes she craved spending more time together, even if it was trapping demons. But that wasn’t gonna happen until she learned to trap a Three. Then she and her dad could work as a team and Bellamy would have to find someone else to trap with. She wondered if he’d realized that yet. 

Clarke poked absentmindedly at the new rip in her jeans. She wouldn’t bother to mend it. Ripped jeans were okay, but the green demon pee was another matter. It was impossible to wash out. There was no way she could afford a new pair. 

When she set her hot chocolate on the center console, she spied a beat up thumb drive next to a pile of crumpled gum wrappers. Probably some of her dad’s random research. When he had free time, which wasn’t very often, he’d go to the library and use one of their computers. Faster than the one they had at home, that was for sure. 

“So what is it this time?” she asked, pointing at the drive. “Random theorem or building design?”

He seemed startled at the question and quickly turned the thumb drive into his pocket. “How’s this for a deal? After I make the rent money I’ll take a night off. We’ll get some pizza, maybe watch a movie.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Sounds good! I’d love that.” She’d love for that to be every night. Then a thought came to her. “Just us? No Bellamy?”

“Do you really dislike him so much?”

“Yes! On the way to the meeting he said he wanted to help me, but then he just sat back and didn’t do anything. Plus, he’s a creeper.”

Her dad shook his head. “You’re not seeing the whole picture.”

“Really? He sat there ignoring everything, acting like he was at a picnic or some shit. Honestly, that’s all he ever does. I don’t know why you bother with him.”

Her dad didn’t answer, his brow furrowed in thought. Clarke cursed to herself. Why did they always have to argue about Bellamy fucking Blake?

Feeling guilty, she blurted out the first thing that came into her head. “What do you think of Finn?”

Her father seemed pleased at the change of topic. “Cocky kid. There’s a lot going on in that brain, though. He’s a methodical trapper. He’ll do well in the business if Wallace ever signs his journeyman’s card. 

“I like him.”

“And I think he likes you. Just be careful of Wallace. He’s already so hard on the kid.”

Clarke’s phone buzzed softly. She studied the display and smiled. It was her best friend. “Hey Wells. What’s up?”

“Clarke! I just saw the video. You’ve gone viral!”

Clarke groaned. Just what she needed. Thousands - millions of people laughing at her. She could hear the sound of a keyboard. Wells was always doing at least three things in any given moment. 

“It wasn’t that much fun in person,” she admitted. 

“Yeah, but you nailed that little guy. All that stuff flying through the air looked like shit out of Harry Potter!” 

Wells was probably the last person in Atlanta who still read fantasy fiction for fun.

“Hold on,” he said. She heard a voice in the background. Probably Wells’s dad, finding out who he was talking to. “Okay, I’m back,” he said. “It was the warden making sure I hadn’t escaped.”

Clarke looked over at her father and sighed. She loved talking to Wells, but her dad wasn’t going to be around all evening. 

“Uh, Wells? Can I call you later? I’m with my dad right now, and he’s going to have to leave pretty soon and-”

“Understood. Call me when you get a chance, okay?” her friend said. “You still rock, by the way.” Then he was gone.

Her father halted at a stop sign as an old man puttered across the intersection. Tied to his shopping cart was a scruffy dog toting something in its mouth. 

“You see that?” her dad asked. 

“You mean the old guy?” 

“You don’t see that whiteish outline around him?”

All she saw was an old guy and his dog. 

“He’s an angel,” her father explained. 

“No way!”

Clarke stared at the man. He looked like any one of the other homeless guys in the city. “I guess I was always picturing robes and wings and harps and shit.”

“Well, angels have all that too. The ministering kind can look like us, unless they want to reveal their true form.”

The man/angel reached the sidewalk, petted the dog, and set off again. 

“There are more of them in Atlanta now,” her dad observed. 

Something in his tone caught Clarke’s notice. “Keeping an eye on the demons. That’s good, right?”

Her father shrugged. “Honestly? I’m not sure.”

“Do they really do angel things? Like miracles and such?” 

“So it’s said.” He was silent for a while, concentrating on his driving. Then out of the blue he asked “You and Wells ever going to date?”

She blinked in surprise. “Um...no?”

“Why not? He’s a nice kid?”

 

“He’s...Wells. I mean…” She struggled to come up with the best explanation for what seemed obvious to her. “He’s my friend.”

“Sure, sure.” he gave her what was probably supposed to be a conspiratorial glance. 

“Yeah, yeah, nice try. He likes Raven”

“The punk barista at the coffee shop?” he asked. “The one with the neon hair?”

Clarke nodded. “You should have seen her last month. She had it done in blackand white stripes with purple tips. It was a sight to see.”

“Don’t even think about it,” her dad replied, shooting her a warning eyebrow. 

“As if.” She had enough problems garnering respect as the Guild’s only female apprentice. She didn’t need to throw badly box dyed hair into the mix.

“How’s school going?” They still have you juniors sitting by the dairy cases?”

Clarke wrinkled her nose. “It’s okay. The store smells like moldy cheese and still has the old signs hanging from the ceiling. It’s gross in there. There are mice in there, and dead roaches.” She wriggled her fingers to emphasize.

Before her father lost his job and started trapping demons, she and Wells had attended a real school. Now, because of budget cuts, they went to night school three times a week in an abandoned grocery store. Most of her teachers had other jobs hauling garbage or selling hot dogs at convenience stores. 

“Some of my teacher buddies are saying there are plans to reorganize the classes again,” her dad warned. “You might be moving to a new location.”

That wasn’t good news. “Just as long as Wells goes with me, I don’t care where they stick us.”

“At least you got a grocery store this time. Think about how much grosser it could’ve been.”

She made a face at the thought. 

“I always figured I’d have a teaching job for life,” her dad admitted. “I even thought it was a good deal when the city sold the schools to Bartwell. Figured it would get us more funding for public education.” He shook his head. “I was so wrong.”

“Clarke knew the story well. Bartwell Industries had leased the school buildings to the city then jacked up the rent. In the midst of a budget crisis and unable to handle the increased expense, Atlanta farmed out their classrooms to uninhabited businesses, hoping to pressure their landlord into lowering their rates. Bartwell promptly went bankrupt/ The result was dilapidated school buildings, classes held in defunct grocery stores, and a lot of unemployed teachers. 

“At least I can trap,” he said ruefully. 

“We both can.”

He nodded, but she could see he wasn’t eager to agree.

Her father was usually in a hurry to leave, keen for the hunt, but they took their time walking from the parking lot to the apartment complex.

I don’t expect you to become a trapper just because I am,” he said, his tone pensive. 

Clarke thought about that as they woe their way through the rusty bikes and scooters. “I want to do this, Dad.” She caught his hand and squeezed it. “I don’t want to work behind a counter somewhere. That’s just not me.”

A resigned expression settled on his face. “I’d hoped you’d change your mind, but tonight I knew it wasn’t going to happen. You stood up to Wallace, and that takes guts. 

“Why is he such a dick?” she asked. “He acts like he hates everyone.”

“He’s had a lot of losses. Everyone has a breaking point, Clarke. He hit his a long time ago.”

“But you didn’t.”

He smiled and squeezed her hand. “Because of you.”

Weaving his arm around her waist, they walked up the stairs in tandem.

_Someday he’ll be home all the time. Then it’ll be good again._


	5. Chapter Five

Once her dad departed, Clarke spent a long time in the shower. To her relief, she managed to scrub most of the green off of her skin. With some creative makeup application she might look almost human by tomorrow night. She hoped none of her classmates had seen the video. Besides Wells that is.

_Right. Dream on._

Every evening she tidied the apartment. Tonight wasn’t any different, despite the fact that she felt like she’d been body-slammed by a sumo wrestler. Cleaning never took very long as the place was Barbie-sized, two hotel rooms joined together, the walls an industrial beige. The extra bathroom had been divided in half and converted into a closet. There were three rooms in total - a twelve-by-fifteen foot living room and kitchenette, a bathroom, and a tiny bedroom. A decrepit wall unit offered minimal heat and air conditioning. They didn’t run it unless they absolutely had to, because it was too noisy. 

_When I’m a journeyman,_ Clarke mused, _we’ll move into a nice apartment_ She could picture it in her head. Wood floors and big windows and gleaming appliances like you’d see in a magazine. They’d had all that, once upon a time. Before the demons. They could again.

Clarke plopped onto the couch and dialed her friend. Wells answered on the first ring. 

“Hey Clarke,” he said. There was a sound of rustling paper. “Our term papers are due tomorrow night.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll work on it tonight.”

“Mine’s already done,” he boasted. She heard a slurping sound like he’d taken a drink through a long straw. “I attacked the South’s assertion that slavery was neccessary for their survival. Tore it to pieces.”

Wells was a secret history nerd. He’d been one ever since they met in fourth grade.

“Nice,” she drew out the _i_ sound. “You think Mr. Rothenberg’s gonna like it?”

“It’s solid. He’ll accept it.”

She scoffed. “Yeah right.” Rothenberg had a Dixie accent as thick as the Atlanta smog and was always talking about the “War of Northern Aggression.” Wells’s paper would not be met with applause, or a decent grade.

“What’s yours about?” her friend asked, followed by more slurping. She chugged down the last of her hot chocolate before answering. 

“General Sherman and why he was actually a terrorist.”

There was a sharp intake of breath. “Wow! Who would’ve ever made that connection?”

“I know, right? Thought I’d try it on for size. Hey, can I borrow your printer tomorrow?”

“Yeah sure,” something made a loud thunking noise on the other end of the line and she heard Wells cure softly. “Better yet, send the file over tonight and I’ll have it all ready for you.”

“Cool! Okay, see you tomorrow night then.”

“Later, Clarke.”

She settled at the card table that served as a makeshift desk and pulled up the computer file she’d titled “General Sherman - War Hero or Domestic Terrorist?” Typing proved harder than she’d expected. The bite on her right palm wasn’t cooperating. Then the _N_ key popped off the keyboard and flew toward the stained carpet. 

“Ah, come on!” she groused. “Really? Really?”

Digging under the card table yielded the key, which she carefully reattached, leaving a trail of _n_ ’s across the screen. She stuck a shiny gold star sticker on it so it’d be easier to find the next time it came off.

It was times like this she longed for her old laptop she’d owned before the condo fire. A Mac with the nice speakers and everything. Now all she had was leftovers because the insurance company only paid enough for the condo mortgage and some beat up old furniture. 

Her dad had found the computer and monitor at a pawn shop and they’d scavenged the keyboard from the trash bin behind a sub shop. It’d taken a long time to clean up and it still smelled like rubbing alcohol and onions. 

A scratching sound came at the door. She ignored it, studying Sherman’s bio. He’d warmed up with the Seminoles and then moved onto razing large parts of the South, including burning Atlanta in 1864.

“Pyromaniac. That’s all I’m saying.”

An email from Wells popped up. The subject line was just a row of _s_ ’s. 

It was a link to another one of her videos. They were 2.3 million views on it already.

“Fuck,” she groaned. It was official. She’d gone viral. No way she was going to watch it again though. She clicked out of the tab and went back to Sherman. 

More scratching. That had to be Max, Mrs. Gordon’s Maine Coon. He was a giant of a cat with a patchwork of thick white, brown, gray, and black fur. His sensitive feline nose would be telling him there were demons inside the apartment. 

Opening the door, she found Max digging at the threshold. Clarke knelt, petted him, and got a throaty purr in response. Some nights she’d let him in and let him keep her company, but not tonight. Not with demons in the apartment.

 

“Sorry. You’ll tear the kitchen apart trying to get at our stash,” she said. Not that the three Biblios currently housed inside the cupboard with the canned green beans actually constituted a stash. Tomorrow her dad would make a run to one of the local demon traffickers, who would relieve him of the fiends in exchange for cold hard cash. Then Max would be welcome in the apartment once more. 

CLarke gave the cat a few more cuddles, shooed him out, and shut the door, making sure to lock it. Sinking into the creaky folding chair, she yawned and cautiously stretched. Something popped in her back and the ache diminished. Considering how hard she’d slammed into the library floor, it was amazing she wasn’t one solid bruise.

When she put her hands back on the keyboard the _N_ was missing again. She made a quick check of the floor. Not there.

“Now that’s weird.”

Another check of the floor turned up a rusty paperclip and an expired roach, but nothing else. Clarke leaned back in her chair, trying to wonder what was going on. Then she remembered the shiny gold star sticker. 

_Can’t be._ To test her theory, she checked the top of the battered dresser in the bedroom. The silver seashell earring she’d found in Centennial Park last summer was missing too.

Clarke grinned. No other explanation - there was a demon in the apartment. Maybe she could redeem herself by catching it. Besides, the extra fiend would be worth seventy-five bucks. One step closer to their pizza and movie night.

She returned to the front room. Going by the fact that everything shiny in the apartment was missing, it was most likely a Klepto-Fiend. Should be easy enough to trap. Or not. At least these fiends wouldn’t pee on her. Their demonic behavior was confined to stealing bright and shiny things.

_But why is it in our apartment?_ That would seem like the last place a demon would want to be discovered. 

Clarke slumped on the stained burgundy couch and conducted a visual scan around the tiny room. The demon could be anywhere, though most likely it would be hunting something shiny. Nothing near the makeshift bookshelf they’d constructed from salvaged cinderblocks. Nothing near the family pictures on the top of the bookshelf. One of those frames had sparkles on it, but it was probably too big for the tiny fiend to cart off. 

“Where are you?” she called out in a sing song voice. Nothing moved. Well, she was a trapper after all. She really had to find him. It would be hard to finish the paper without the _N_ key. Especially since the paper’s subject ended in an _n_. 

A sharp hiss came from the hallway. Then a growl. Had the demon slipped out of the apartment? Clarke grabbed a sippy cup from the cupboard, one her father had specially prepared with a layer of glitter on the bottom. When she edged open the door, she found Max a few feet down the hallway, his fur on end and his back humped. Every whisker bristled at attention.

The reason crouched near the floor register. It was one of Hell’s cat burglars. Similar in stature to a Biblio Fiend, the Magpie was the same size with human-like hands and a forked tail. Its eyes were red, but not the Hellfire red that bothered her. It was clad in a tiny black ninja outfit, complete with a cloth mask and boots. It was trying to stuff its canvas bag through the fins of the floor register. Even Clarke could tell it wasn’t going to fit. The demon wouldn’t leave the bag behind; the ‘pretties’ were everything to them.

Max took another step closer, his growl deepening now. If this had been a Biblio, the demon would’ve slammed a fist into the cat’s nose or peed in his eyes then made a run for it. Magpies survived by stealth. Unfortunately, this one had nowhere to run. 

“Max?” The cat’s back rumpled in irritation at her voice, but he didn’t break his vigil. “You can’t eat it. It’ll make you sick. All your lovely hair will fall out, then you’ll start having seizures. Soon you’ll be a dead kitty. Got it?”

The cat growled in response. It was matched in volume by the demon’s warning hiss. 

 

“Come on, Max. Let it be.” She coaxed. 

In exaggerated slow motion, he took one more step toward the Magpie. 

A door slammed on the floor below and Max jumped at the sound, momentarily losing eye contact. It gave Clarke the diversion she needed. With a quick sweep of her foot she shoved the cat down the hall. Waving her arms in the air, she shouted nonsense at it until he took off.

When she turned back, the demon was still trying to cram it’s loot bag through the vent. She knelt, tipped open the cup, and dropped a few pieces of glitter on the floor. Magpies were hardwired for bling. All she needed to do was provide the bait. The demon stopped it;s frantic attempts to escape. It stared at the glitter and began to pant, fingers twitching in anticipation. More twitching. Faster than she’d expected, it zoomed up to the sparkles, despite the danger. She snagged the fiend right before it picked up the last one, and dropped it into the cup. Instead of the expected flood of hellspeak: offers of favors or more general cursing, the demon offered a long, tortured sigh. Then it sat, sorting the glitter into stacks _by color_.

Now she’d seen everything. She screwed on the lid, grabbed its bag, and hurried back into the apartment before Max worked up the courage to return.

Before getting back to work on the assignment, Clarke sorted through the demon’s horde, reclaiming her earring and the _N_ key. It rapped on the side of the container and pointed at the bag, looking woebegone. It wanted its stash back. She rifled through it some more, but couldn’t find anything else that belonged to her or her dad.

“Okay, Flash. Here you go.” Unscrewing the top, she carefully dropped the bag inside, then tightly resealed the lid. The Magpie promptly pulled out a shiny penny and someone’s tie tack. Those earned her a grateful demon smile. It curled up on its bed of treasure and fell asleep.

PLeased with how things turned out, she texted her dad: _Caught a Magpie in the apartment! Trapper scores!_

Clarke waited, but there was no response. Probably busy trapping that Three. When she finally shut down the computer a couple of hours later, there was still no reply.

_Go get ‘em, Dad. Movie night, here we come._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting a couple of chapters all at once to make up for my accidental hiatus. My beta dropped out of the project with no warning and I used it as an excuse to push this aside. But I'm back!
> 
> If anyone's interested in being my new beta, you can send an email to shadeandshift@gmail.com. Please give me your AO3 username. I'll wait like a week or two for interested people to get in touch before making a decision. Please don't get in touch unless you have reason to believe you'll be able to work with me for a while. Thanks!


	6. Chapter Six

Whistling “Good King Wenceslas” louder than was strictly necessary, Bellamy waited in the middle of Alabama Street as night settled over the city. The steel pipe stuck in the back of his jeans was uncomfortable, but he left it in place. If they were lucky it wouldn’t be there much longer. To his right, Jake was hidden behind a dumpster, armed and waiting for their prey. 

Bellamy had to admit that Little Five Points was one of his favorite trapping locations. It had been dubbed “Demon Central” by the Guild, and it was perfect for Grade Three fiends. Threes loved the tangle warren of gutted buildings, seemingly bottomless holes, and overflowing dumpsters. Those few buildings still intact had metal bars and grates over the doors and windows to keep the Hellspawn outside. It was the only part of the city that had much metal left. It was too dangerous to try and scavenge down here, though some folks tried. All of them regretted it.

Any exposed concrete sported long claw marks starting four feet up, the way Threes marked their territory. That and stinking piles of demon crap acidic enough to melt asphalt. At least the colder weather cut the smell down some.

Bellamy was summoning their prey on a couple of levels. Threes detested Christmas music, and couldn’t resist rabbit entrails. He had a freshly gutted bunny lying at his feet. They had one track minds. If something moved, they ate it. If it didn’t move, they ate it anyway just to be safe. While on the hunt, which was pretty much any time after dark, they ripped apart anything that got in their way. They’d grown so ferocious that most hunters brought along a buddy for backup.

Bellamy caught a movement near one of the countless holes that littered the street. It was a skulking rat, probably the only one within a square mile. That was the only benefit to a Three infestation: the pigeon and rat populations dropped down to almost zero.

Even though he was growing impatient, Bellamy forced himself to hold his position. Pulling off his Braves cap, he smoothed his hair. It was getting shaggy by his standards, but he didn’t have time for a haircut. The last two girlfriends had liked the look. Not that they hung around for long. Octavia would’ve hated it. 

As Bellamy waited he could’ve swore he felt the ground settling all around him. Built on top of what used to be street-level Atlanta in the nineteenth century, this part of town had been sinking for the past decade. Holes developed over old steam vaults. Then the holes got bigger. And bigger. The last cave in had been near the Five Points MARTA station. With the city bankrupt, the holes kept enlarging. Only the demons found that a blessing.

Bellamy shifted his eyes sideways towards the battle-scarred dumpster fifteen feet away. Even in the dim glow of the single streetlight he could see the serene expression Jake wore when on the hunt. How he managed that, Bellamy never understood. It was probably why his partner had outlived an encounter with an Archfiend. 

_I sure as hell wouldn’t._

There was a sound near one of the holes as a Three climbed out of whatever lay below. 

“Demon at one o’clock,” Bellamy muttered. Jake nodded, holding his silence. 

The beast should’ve been solid black, but this one had big white splotches like a lethal Holstein cow. Repeated applications of Holy Water did that to a Three, like a bad bleach job. This one had seen a lot of it and was still going strong. 

The slavering beast hunkered down next to the bunny bait and gobbled up the offering in a single gulp. Then it looked up, those laser red eyes scanning the terrain for the real bait - Bellamy. 

“Trapperrr,” it hissed.

“Demon.” Bellamy said back, evenly. He waited for it to charge. They always charged, howling and waving those scimitar claws. Instead, the thing’s paw closed around a beer bottle, arming itself. That was a new tactic. Usually they just leapt on you and kept slicing until they had you on the ground.

“Incoming!” Bellamy taunted. He ducked as the bottle flew by him. He danced around, taunting the demon. Keeping it’s attention on him. “You couldn’t hit an elephant at ten paces with a throw like that!” It was a weak insult, but it did the trick.

“Chew yourrr bones!” the demon cried, waving its furry arms above its head like an incensed orangutan. 

Bellamy mirrored the gesture and then sneered. “Yeah yeah. If you’re the best Hell can do, no wonder ol’ Lucie got kicked out of heaven.” 

“Name not he!” the demon shouted before descending into a long string of hellspeak. Sometimes Bellamy envied Clarke’s ability to speak Hell’s own language. This was not one of those times. Lucifer’s falling was a sore point for Hell’s residents. They didn’t like to be reminded. 

“Who? Lucifer? Luuciifeerr?” He drew it out, grinning wildly at the fiend. Enraged, the demon sent a volley of beer bottles his way. Only one came close. Bellamy executed an exaggerated yawn, which only infuriated the fiend further. He could sense Jake’s disapproval radiating from the direction of the dumpster. The master was never happy when his former student showboated, as he put it.

_But damn, this is fun._

The telltale scrape of claws across the broken pavement brought Bellamy back to reality. He kept his eyes on the thing as it scrambled towards him. Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Bellamy remembered how those claws felt when they’d dug into him. The smell of rancid breath in his face. The click of incisors as they went for his neck.

“Now!” he shouted, brandishing the steel pipe. 

A clear globe arced through the air and hit the creature straight in the face. Glass shattered and Holy Water drenched the creature’s fur covered head. The demon began to dance around like it was on fire, swiping at unseen enemies. Then it crumpled.

Jake stepped out from behind the dumpster, studying the monster from a respectful distance, another sphere already in his hand. 

“Damn, you’re good,” Bellamy said, edging closer. “I can never hit ‘em when they’re running like that.”

“Takes practice. You be careful,” Jake urged. 

“No problem. I learnt my lesson about these things.” Bellamy gingerly prodded the steel into the side of the demon. It wasn’t breathing. Which meant it was getting ready to strike. 

“Heads up!” he shouted. The fiend was on its feet in an instant, moving faster than he’d expected. One of its paws clamped onto the pipe. Bellamy knew better than to hold on to it. He’d made that mistake before and been pulled into another set of claws. He surrendered the pipe, but by that time the demon was already lunging for him, hellfire eyes glowing bright. He kicked with his steel-toed boot and caught the thing on the shoulder. As it spun around, one of the clas ripped the hem of his jeans, pulling him off balance. If he hit the ground he was dead. 

As it turned, another sphere smashed into the Three’s back full on, causing it to shriek wildly and bat at the soaked fur. Before either trapper could react, it raced toward the closest hole, dove into the darkness, and disappeared. 

“Ah, shit!” Bellamy spat. 

Jake joined him, slipping the strap of his duffel bag onto his shoulder, his face radiating disapproval. 

“Go on, say it.” 

“What’s the point? You never listened when you were an apprentice; you’re not going to now.”

Bellamy waited him out. With Jake, there was always more.

Jake shook his head. “You can’t just do the job straight, can you? Always gotta show off. It’s going to get you dead, Blake.”

Bellamy was used to this particular lecture. He’d heard it often enough. 

“It’s just...never mind.” Skating on the edge made him feel alive, kept things interesting. But he knew better than to try to explain. “The Holy Water hardly fazed the thing. It should’ve been out for at least a couple minutes.”

“It’s happening more often now.”

Bellamy lifted an eyebrow. “Any idea why?”

His companion shook his head. “No, but I’m working on that.” Jake studied the alley. “We need to rethink our strategy, at least for this demon.”

Bellamy reclaimed his pipe. It had our new clawmarks in it. “Yeah, big time.”

They turned and began to walk to the truck both of them on edge. It reminded Bellamy of when he was in the army, out on patrol.Waiting for that first burst of gunfire or a thundering explosion along the roadside. Here it was teeth and claws, but the effect was basically the same. If a trapper didn’t pay attention they got injured or they got dead.

“That Five at the library today,” Jake said out of nowhere. 

Bellamy had wondered when that subject would come up.

“Why did it go after _Clarke_?”

“No clue. Don’t suppose you can keep her from trapping for a while?”

Jake snorted. “That’ll be the day. Besides, we need the extra cash. I’m gonna restrict her to only trapping with one of us. That should keep her safe until we can get this sorted out.”

“Better not send her out with me. She’ll feed me to the first Three we find,” Bellamy said, trying to lighten the moment.

“She doesn’t have a crush on you anymore, if that’s what you’re worried about, Blake.”

“Oh, I know that. No she just hates me. I really boxed myself in there.” A grunt of agreement came from his partner. “You think the Five made itself look like one of the students?”

“That’s my guess. As long as it kept its feet from touching the ground it could work its evil.”

A breeze stirred, kicking up puffs of concrete dust. The hair on the back of Bellamy’s neck ruffled. He shot a concerned look at Jake. 

“Just the wind.” Jake said. “A Five’s not gonna mess with the two of us.”

“Tell him that,” Bellamy said, pointing down the alley.

A Grade Five Geo-Fiend materialized thirty feet in front of them, hovering a foot or so above the road. Bellamy estimate it was at least seven feet tall; it’s coal black face was dominated by curved canines and twin horns that sprouted from the side of its head, curving upward like a bull. It had a massive chest, like an Olympic weightlifter who’d gone overboard on the steroids. Brilliant red eyes glared at them, flickering in the dim light.

This was one of the big boys. Unless they were very careful, it’d turn them into sushi.

“That’s one damned ugly demon,” Bellamy muttered.

Jake palmed a Holy Water sphere.

“Hey, dumbass,” Bellamy shouted. “Trash any books today?”

The resulting laugh cut like razor blades. 

“Griffin’s daughter nearly mine.”

Jake’s legendary composure dropped like a mask. His voice went low, urgent. “Circle around to the truck, Bellamy. I’ll handle this.”

“Kiss my ass, Griffin.” It was exactly what he’d said the first time they’d met, on the first day of class.

After a worried glance, Jake called out, “Demon, this is your only warning.”

_Warning?_ Trappers never warned demons. _What’s he doing?_

In response, the Geo-Fiend made slight hand movements like it was flicking lint off its clothes. Blue-black clouds began to form, the warm up to a full meteorological assault. The fiend laughed again, its eyes glowing bright in anticipation.

“So what’s the plan?” Bellamy asked, his throat turning dry. 

“Back up slowly.”

A snarl came from behind them. The Three had returned, drooling and clicking its claws together. 

“Not happening.”

Jake shook his head. “This is all wrong.”

“Like they care,” Bellamy said, slowly rotating until his back was against Jake’s, his eyes on the furry omnivore bringing up the rear.

“Got another plan?” he asked, testing the weight of his steel pipe in his hand.

“No,” Jake replied. He hurled the sphere, but a full blast of wind hit them the second later, like a summer squall, causing the orb to disintegrate in midair. Stinging rain and hail pelted them as a thunderclap shook the air, making their ears pop. Bellamy yelped and dropped the steel pipe, cursing as lightning sparked off it. Slowly they were pushed toward the slobbering demon. It held its position, its meal being catered.

Jake dug in his duffel bag and handed a blue grounding sphere to Bellamy. Then he pulled one out for himself. “You go left,” he ordered. “Count it down.”

Bellamy took a deep breath, his gut twisting in fear. “Three...two...one!”

He hurled the sphere to his left as Paul slung his in the opposite direction. Glass smashed and the spheres’ contents erupted in a blaze of brilliant blue light. The grounding magic began its run across anything metal, making it look molten. It shot along a section of rusty fence, leapt to the battered dumpster, then to a mangled bicycle. If the two portions met and formed a circle it would force the Geo-Fiend into the earth. Once grounded, the fiend lost the ability to use the forces of nature against them. 

The Five hesitated, seeing their plan, and then moved higher into the air. It swept its hands upward, creating two new whirlwinds. Pieces of debris sucked into the vortex, like iron filings to a magnet. Nails, shards of glass, slivers of wood, and pieces of brick all whirled in a huge circle.

Bellamy picked up a broken two-by-four, gritting his teeth as the slivers drove themselves into his scorched palm.

“Eyes!” Jake shouted, smashing a shield sphere to the ground.

Even though his eyes were closed, Bellamy could see the sheet of white light as it bloomed around them. Once he felt the brightness subside, he pried them open. A white veil hing in the air around him and his friend, a defense from the storm. It wouldn’t last long. 

The twin whirlwinds struck hard against the magical wall, debris attacking from every corner. It sounded like a hail storm against the magical shield. As the storm intensified, ripples of magic, like long blue fingers, stretched upward to the Gep-Fiend. It fought the grounding, hurling wind, snow, and lightning like a vengeful god.

The white protective shield evaporated. A second later Jake cried out and slammed into Bellamy, causing the younger trapper to tumble to the ground. Rolling to the side, Bellamy came to his feet, crouched and ready for battle. Adrenaline pumped through him with every staccato heartbeat. It made his vision clear, each breath deeper. It made him feel alive.

There was a final wail as the weather demon sank into the earth behind them. The grounding spheres had saved their asses. As the wind died there was the patter of urban debris hitting the ground. 

“Sweet Jesus,” Bellamy murmured, his breath coming in sharp gasps. Edging sideways, he picked up the pipe in his sweaty hand, dropping the two-by-four. Keeping a wary eye on the Three, he moved backward, step by step, until he was even with his friend. His fellow trapper was on his knees, bent over as if in prayer.

“Jake?” No reply. “You okay?”

His mentor slowly raised his head, his face a bluish gray. In the fading glow of the grounding sphere’s magic Bellamy saw a quarter sized dot of blood over his friend’s left breast. 

Jake took a tortured, sucking breath, one that made his whole body shake. “Lies…” Terror filled his eyes. “Clarke...Oh, God...Clarke....”

As his mentor toppled into Bellamy’s arms, the remaining demon charged.


	7. Chapter Seven

Bellamy began his slow ascent. Right leg, left leg. Right. Left. He concentrated on the movement up the two flights of stairs, sixteen steps total to the second floor and the apartment where Clarke Griffin slept. There was one step for each year of his life before he’d met Jake. 

Bellamy didn’t remember much about those first few years - probably for the best. From age five on he remembered too much. Nights alone with Octavia in his cold room, his mom gone. Struggling to keep his baby sister alive while she was out. When she did come home she was too drunk to know who he was. No food, not even a hug. Night after night he curled around Octavia in a makeshift bed of dirty clothes, thinking he’d done something to make her hate them.

On his sixth birthday, he remembered, his mom had been passed out on the worn plaid couch in their living room, the man who’d come home with her zipping up his pants. When Bellamy had told him it was his birthday the guy had laughed, ruffled his hair, and gave him a dollar bill. Bellamy had cried himself to sleep that night, wondering why he hadn’t gotten real presents like the other kids.

By age ten he knew his father was a phantom, someone who had picked up Aurora’s tab the night he’d been conceived. Probably on that damned plaid couch. He also knew what his mother was.

By the time he turned eleven, Bellamy knew she wanted him to run away. He refused. WHo would look after six year old Octavia then? As he reached the thirteenth step he recalled the beatings. One of the men who’d moved in had taught him fists were a great weapon. Bellamy learned that lesson well. On anyone who challenged him.

In his sixteenth year he’d met Jake Griffin, a university professor filling in as a high school history sub. Jake hadn’t treated him like the other teachers at school. Hadn’t told him he was a loser headed for prison or an early grave. Instead, he’d talked about the future. In his own way, Jake had seeded Bellamy’s desire for revenge - the ultimate revenge - turning out better than his alcohol soaked mother.

When Bellamy reached the seventeenth step he moved on to the landing, like his own life at the same age. He’d bailed out of high school early, barely getting his diploma. For three years in the Army he took on an enemy he’d never understood, watching friends and foes alike die while they cried out to God and their mothers. Bellamy didn’t believe in either. At twenty he was back in Atlanta. Back with Jake - the only person who ever gave a damn about Bellamy Blake. 

In the end he’d proved his teacher wrong. The smart-mouthed kid with no future wasn’t any better than his mother or the bastard who’d knocked her up.

He halted in front of the apartment door feeling the blood cracking on his face, the pulsing burn on his right hand, the prock of glass in his left knee. Raising his fist, he let it hang in the air, not wanting to take that final step. Finally, he hammered on the door. A decade passed. Finally, Clarke’s sleepy voice asked who it was. He told her.

“Dad?” she called out. “Are you there?”

When he didn’t answer she began to frantically undo the locks. “Dad?”

As she wrenched the door open, their eyes met.

Bellamy’s heart turned to ashes. 

\---

“What do you want?” Clarke asked. When he didn’t reply she shoved past him, not caring that she was in her pajamas. “Dad?” she called out.

There was no one else in the hallway.

She whirled around. “Where is he? Is he hurt?”

A shudder coursed through Bellamy’s body. “Gone,” he murmured, then looked at the ground.

“What do you mean gone?”

“I’m so sorry, Princess.” 

Confusion gave way to anger. “Is this some sick game?” she asked, jamming a finger at him. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“I tried, but there were two of them and … he’s gone, Clarke.”

Her hand was in motion before she realized. He made no effort to block the blow, and the slap landed soundly on his cheek. Before she could strike him again, Bellamy snagged her arm and pulled her up against him. Though she struggled and swore, she couldn’t pull free. 

“Goddammit,” she heard him whisper. 

He hugged her so tightly she couldn’t breathe, then broke his embrace.

Unable to think of what this meant, she shoved him away. Her hands came away sticky, imprinted with blood. 

It was only then she saw the gouges on Bellamy’s face and hands, the long strips of leather missing from his jacket that revealed a shredded T-shirt underneath. Both legs of his jeans were ripped and stiff with blood. 

The rational part of her examined those injuries, cataloged them and told her that if Bellamy was that badly hurt, he dad wasn’t coming home. 

Her heart refused to accept it.

_No. He’s alive. He’ll be here in the morning and …_

With each passing second the pressure built inside her. It coiled around Clarke’s chest, forcing itself up into her throat. She wrenched herself away and fled into the apartment, stumbling into the bedroom. Only then did she let the scream loose into the depths of her pillow, let it rend her throat until she had no more breath. Then the tears came, streaming hot, salty. She tried not to let them overwhelm her, but it was no use. She choked on her sobs, hammering the bed with her fists.

Images of her father came to mind - teaching her how to ride her first bicycle, comforting her after she took a headlong tumble down the stairs, holding her hand when Abby left.

_Not this. Please, not him._

How long she cried she couldn’t tell; her sense of time stripped away. When Clarke could finally catch her breath, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose with a wad of tissues from the box on the nightstand. There was the sound of running water in the bathroom. When it shut off she heard thick sobs through the thin wall. 

_Bellamy._

Her father was really gone.

Later, when she rolled over in the bed she found Bellamy sitting in the chair near the door. His eyes were swollen, dark red, and he stared at nothing, unaware that the wounds on his face were still oozing. He only roused when she pulled herself up against the headboard.

Bellamy hoarsely cleared his throat. “We were trying to catch...that Three. It got away. We were walking...to the truck when-” He broke off at looked down at the floor again, his elbows on his knees. His jacket was off and there were claw marks on his chest. “A Five popped out of nowhere. Then the Three came back. They were working together.”

That wasn’t what she wanted to know. “How did he die?” she said flatly.

“A piece of glass got through the shield. Doc said it hit his heart.

Now she knew. It didn’t help.

“Where is he?”

He looked up at her. “Oakland Cemetery. None of the mortuaries will have anything to do with a trapper.”

“I want to see him,” she said, shifting her feet to the edge of the bed.

“Not ‘til morning.”

“I don’t want him to be alone.” She bent over to try and find her socks.”

“He won’t be. Finn’s with him.”

She ignored him.

“Clarke, please. Finn will watch over him. You need to stay here.”

Bellamy was right, of course, but it robbed her of something to do when every moment that passed promised unbelievable heartbreak.

Clarke sank onto the bed. “I have no one left now,” she said. “No one.”

“You have me.”

She glared at him. How could he possibly think he was interchangeable with her father? “I don’t want you!” she snarled. “If you really cared for him, he’d be alive and you’d be the one who-”

Bellamy took a sharp intake of breath like she’d broken something inside of him. She turned her back on him and let the tears fall. A door closed, and then there was silence.

A few minutes later something touched Clarke’s knee and she jumped. It was Max. He settled next to her, leaning into her body, purring as loud as she’d ever heard him. At first she resented his presence, but he kept rubbing up against her. FInally she gave in and hugged him tight. His thick fur soaked up her tears. 

“Clarke? I have tea for you, child,” Mrs. Gordon offered. Clarke pried her face out of the cat’s fur. Her neighbor stood in the doorway, a cup in hand.

“No...thanks.”

“It is chamomile. It will help you rest. That is what you need right now.”

Knowing Mrs. Gordon wasn’t easily put off, Clarke sat up and took the cup. The herbs smelled fresh and they helped unstuff her nose.

The other woman settled on the side of the bed in a robe, her long hair in a thick braid that nearly reached her waist. She seemed almost ethereal, like a fairy. “Mr. Blake has left. I urged him to get his wounds looked at. They look bad.”

_Then what does Dad look like?_

Clarke nearly choked at the thought. She forced herself to take a sip. It was hot and tasted sweet, like there was honey in it. She took another long drink, accompanied by the older woman’s approving nod.

“Mr. Blake said to tell you he took the demons with him. They were making considerable noise.”

“What?”

“The small ones in the cupboard,” Mrs. Gordon explained.

“Oh,” which must be why Max was lounging on the bed rather than trying to tear the kitchen apart. She reached out a hand and stroked his thick fur.

“He will stay with you tonight, keep you safe.” Mrs. Gordon said.

That seemed silly. What could a cat do?

The yawn caught Clarke unawares. She finished the drink and handed the empty cup to her neighbor, her hands quaking.

“I’ll be out on the couch,” the woman announced. “Call if you need me.”

Before Clarke could protest, there was the soft shuffle of slippers and then the door closed. She fumbled for a photo on the nightstand. It was one of her and Dad from last summer mounted in a picture frame they’d bought at a dollar store. It had orange kittens running around the edge. Dorky, but cheap.

They’d gone on a picnic that day, just the two of them. She’d made sandwiches and cupcakes and lemonade. She could almost smell the cheap artificial lemonade powder and see the blue sky draped like a canopy above them. The picture had been taken by a young man who was there with his new wife. They’d been all over each other. Her dad was embarrassed, but she’d thought it was cute.

Her father looked younger in the picture, content, like all the bills and worries didn’t exist. She hugged the frame close to her body, wishing time had stopped that day in the park. Then she and her dad would still be together. 

Max moved closer to her, wedging himself up against her stomach, his rich purr reverberating throughout her body. She curled around him, clutching the photo to her chest. The last thing she could remember was him licking her hand and her father’s reassuring voice saying that everything would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the several users who took the time to point out the mistakes in my tags - it has been fixed!  
> I'm going to take a moment though to ask everyone to keep their comments a little nicer in the future.


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